Smack in the Middle of Nowhere

In the province of Fqih ben Saleh, at the foot of the middle Atlas Mountains, lies a small village named Oulad Ghanem. With a population of only a few hundred, it’s safe to say that my 5-day stay in this douane or small village was the most “off the grid” I’ve ever been in my entire life. In addition to agriculture, milk products and producing olive oil to survive, this entire region of Morocco has been characterized by its reliance on sending workers to Spain and Italy to work in order to make money to improve their standard of living back in Morocco. 

Throughout our stay, we spoke to an anthropologist from the village, groups of women, and men who successfully made it to Europe to find work. What’s interesting is that there is significant cultural and gender pressures which force many young men to embark on incredibly dangerous journeys to Europe. In comparison with my week speaking with Moroccan Residents Abroad in Amsterdam, I noticed that I’ve met two distinct groups of people who have very different concepts of “home”. When examining my experience and relationships with these Moroccans both at home and abroad, it is clear the motivations, effects and general mindset of living or working in Europe is very different for each group of people. 

In the village, Morocco is still “home”; these young men are motivated to travel to Europe, often illegally, for the purpose of working and securing papers to make transit and mobility easier. They work for ten months in Italy or Spain and return for two months for vacation with their families back in Morocco.  The purpose of their voyage and employment in Europe is not to create a new and better life abroad, rather to earn enough money to bring home and make life better in Morocco. Conversely, the Moroccans I met in Amsterdam view the Netherlands as their home, visiting Morocco only for a short period of time each year to see relatives or to show Morocco to their children. They are not living and working in Europe to guarantee a better life in Morocco because their motivation is to live, work and prosper in the Netherlands, where their spouses, children, and sometimes extended family now live as well. It is important to note, however, that many of these Moroccans are second or third generation migrants who were born in the Netherlands, while in the village, all of the men who work in Europe were born in Morocco.

These two distinct trends of migration highlight the differences between patterns of migration for Moroccans. In the 1960s, Moroccans were brought over as guest workers to make money and return home, a trend exemplified by the Moroccan men I spoke with in the village. A man we spoke with named Mustafa explained the motivations for migration. “It’s about improving your economic situation here, otherwise, we would have never left. That’s why we keep one foot here and one foot there.” Conversely, in the 1970s, full families were brought to Europe to reside permanently, a trend that I observed when talking to Moroccans in Amsterdam. This was the impetus for second or third generation Dutch-Moroccans. 

However, these characteristically different patterns of migration that I observed might in fact be due to a variety factors. First, in Amsterdam, we almost only spoke with elite, educated Dutch-Moroccan scholars such as Nadia Bourass and Fouad Laroui. They were fully integrated into Dutch society, enjoyed prosperous, comfortable social positions and had no motivation to return to Morocco because they were quite successful in Amsterdam. Unlike the male workers from Fqih ben Saleh, they were not in Europe for the purpose of making money in order to improve life in Morocco; their lives were in Amsterdam and they only visited Morocco for a week or two a year for the purpose of seeing extended family and friends. Second, the Netherlands is quite different from Spain or Italy in regards to the services the state provides to all members of society, namely healthcare and unemployment benefits: these services are attractive enough to make people stay. Conversely, because of the economic crisis, times were much tougher for those in Spain and Italy. These two factors, among many other unexplored factors, might in fact prove to be the reasons for the two distinctly different trends of migration and conceptualizations of “home” that I observed among these two groups of Moroccans. 

Additionally, for Moroccans I spoke with in the village, the psychological “home” of Morocco might also be due to the factors and social pressures that forced these men to go and work in Europe in the first place. Sociologist Dr. Abderahim Anbi, born in Oulad Ghanem, explains that “men who went to Europe and successfully found employment were seen as heroes. Families used to compete on how many people they could afford to send to Europe to work.” These men clearly want to prove themselves to their families, friends and neighbors back home; if they never return, they cannot show their wealth, prosperity and success. Furthermore, if the migrant is unable to find work and wealth in Europe, the “family rather they don’t return” because their failure will be public for all in the village to see. 

The outward signs of success among migrants was clearly visible while staying in the village as well. When speaking with the men of the village, these same social pressures for migrants’ mandatory success were clearly identifiable. Hishem, a young man in his mid-twenties, refused to speak with us in darija because he wanted to prove that he was a “successful migrant” who learned Spanish while providing for his family during his time in Europe. He also wore the most western clothes out of anyone who we spoke to: a lavender cashmere sweater with a purple button down shirt, grey suit pants and shiny, black leather shoes. He looked European and spoke perfect Spanish. He was a successful migrant and everyone in the village knew it.

On a personal note, my village stay was one of the most memorable experiences of my life, particularly because of the unprecedented hospitality of the people I met. I stayed with the Atlassi family in a small, very simple one-story home. My father, Abdelahdi, was incredibly kind and gentle, always with a smile on his face and a spark in his eyes. He spoke no English, but immediately grabbed my arm and called me his son as he proceeded to bring me to every single house in the village. His wife, 3 sons, and daughter were all incredibly kind and hospitable as well. The family did not want to see me leave and made me promise to return next month to do research in the village.

When we arrived, we were straight to the house of the president of the NGO in the village. He lived in the biggest house in the village and was so welcoming and kind to all of us. By 8pm, all the men of the village (our host fathers) came to dine with us, a meal consisting of vegetable salads, tagines, and mounds and mounds of sweet couscous, made with sugar, raisins and onions (a type reserved for parties, holidays and special occasions). As the only male student on the program, I was invited to dine with all of the men of the village while my fellow female students ate together. I felt honored and cherished by this group of men who I just met; I even stayed til 12:30am talking about politics and business of the village with all of the men (yes, sebsi pipes were involved as well). 

Life in the village was relaxing and calm because there wasn’t that much to do each day, although my father would wake up at 5am to milk the cows, which lived in a room connected to our house, and my brothers went to school in a larger town a few miles away. After our lectures and site visits, I would walk around on the small, dirt country roads and run into villagers that I met who were also strolling to take in the beautiful scenery, as the sky was so blue and the country so green and lush.

The highlight activity of our stay was going to the souk on Sunday. Because of the size of the town, there is no supermarket or small store to buy food or staples for cooking. While there is a small hanoot or bodega, it only sells snacks, toiletries, and soft drinks. Therefore, Sunday souk is where the family must rely on to stock up for every meal of the week, and what they don’t buy at the souk comes from the land and nature. The souk was enormous, with thousands of people from nearby towns and villages. It was about 3 miles away, so we piled 12 people in the back of the village ambulance to journey to the souk. Once we got there, I was amazed at how sprawling it was, with a huge diversity of goods and produce ranging from fruits and vegetables to important goods from Italy and Spain. Furthermore, it was all organized by section based on what people were selling. What was also amazing about the souk was that people wore their best jellabas and dresses because it was the day to meet and converse with people from other villages, and daughters would often have their marriages arranged at the souk! On the way back, we took a horse and cart, another first for me...

I plan on keeping my promise to return.